


to crash in orbit

by aceun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Pining, being unprofessional on the job, ft. a hint of atsukita, sort of - more like enemies with benefits in this piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25511989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceun/pseuds/aceun
Summary: Osamu huffed a laugh before leaning forward to speak lowly in his ear, “I don’t believe you.”Suna turned his head towards him, their faces now centimeters apart, and said with barely concealed amusement: “What, that I took the Rembrandt?”“That you’re here as security.”“Oh I get it,” Suna smiled. “You want to tie me to a chair to make sure I can’t do anything only for you to freely slip in and steal one of her collections yourself.”“How about we mutually agree to keep an eye on each other.”“I think you just want an excuse to look at me.”[Suna and Osamu are spies. They are not on the same team.]
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 50
Kudos: 429





	to crash in orbit

** NEW YORK CITY **

Osamu moved through the crowded reception area with ease, flute of champagne held in hand, as the sounds of a string quartet carried lightly over the chatter. Guests in jewel-toned dresses and three piece suits mingled under the light of chandeliers with the confident, effortless airs that only generations of being comfortably among the upper echelons of society could curate. To anyone looking, Osamu would blend in seamlessly with the picture. 

He found someplace to stand with a good view of the room and glanced at his watch. In ten minutes, the doors to the auction house would open and the charity function would start. 

“This sucks,” came Atsumu’s familiar voice through the earpiece. “Why do I have to be a grunt while Osamu gets to be a baron?”

Osamu raised the flute to his lips and smirked. “It’s cause I’m better with people than you.” 

Kita’s voice cut through Atsumu’s angry response, a feather light touch that immediately made his brother fall silent. “Atsumu, what’s the status back there?” 

“Everything’s in position. Two guards posted by the entrance. Four assigned to every item that gets carried out from the storage vault to the stage. The first team is ready to head out at the signal. The hallway is locked down with detail on both sides spread out every two meters, but Akagi probably has eyes on that.” 

“Roger,” Akagi cut in cheerfully. “Though it feels weird to be managing the security feeds instead of hacking into it.”

Atsumu snorted. “This is excessive. Zusak must be paranoid as hell to hire us.” 

“We’re doing this as a favor to an old friend,” said Kita. “She’s helped us out of countless tight spots in the past. Out of all the things she could ask of us, it’s generous of her to only request that we be here to make sure her event runs smoothly.” 

Still, even Osamu found the situation amusing. The Foxes, led by Kita Shinsuke, were one of the best espionage groups operating in present time. Their typical missions ran towards the stakes of impacting global conglomerates and international relations. They were used to working with the political sensitivity of not stepping on a portion of a country’s GDP. To be assigned watch over a collection of expensive but otherwise un-noteworthy antiques was like using a dagger as a toothpick. 

Though Osamu had laughed at the look on Atsumu’s face when Kita told him he’d be doing grunt work for this job, he understood his indignation. Even putting aside the Foxes’ reputation, the Miya Twins were notorious for being the best duo in the trade. The calibre of their abilities was indisputable; they left others in the dust. As each other’s fiercest competitors and loudest critics, they pushed each other to heights other would balk at. 

But while they bickered and clawed at each other's throats on the side, in the heat of the mission it was as if they shared the same mind, predicting the other’s thoughts and moving in perfect synchronization. As creepy as it was, Osamu swore they even breathed in tandem. 

Atsumu was a loose cannon with a reckless streak that straddled the line between genius and stupidity. Kita would add that Osamu was one too. But what made them so formidable was that they had the technical skills and innate understanding to pull off those impossible stunts without a moment’s hesitation. 

One Miya was dangerous. Two was practically unstoppable. 

Osamu’s eyes swept through the room, slightly bored. It said a lot that Kita, who usually sent Aran with them more or less to supervise, let him hang back at headquarters to recuperate from his last job. Kita would never admit it, being wary of certain victory on principle, but it was likely that he also thought this job wouldn’t give them much trouble.

He was just about to take another sip of his drink when he caught a familiar flash of dark hair and narrow features on the other side of the hall. Osamu froze for a split second before locking his sight on the figure, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against to walk in that direction. 

Osamu’s glasses had been designed by Akagi. Its thin frames looked both inconspicuous and expensive while its lenses automatically transmitted everything he was seeing to the shared screen on the group’s base. 

Akagi, having caught on, drew in a sharp breath. “Fuck, is that…” 

Suna Rintaro, dressed in a white suit, stood next to the floor-to-ceiling window with his arm loosely held by a woman at his side, smiling pleasantly as she conversed with a man who looked to be one of the curators at the Met. 

“Osamu,” Kita warned. “Don’t give me a repeat of Rome.” 

“Oh my god,” came Atsumu’s voice, tinged with glee. “Is Suna here? Ha! ’Samu doesn’t want a repeat of Rome, he wants a repeat of Prague. What did you write on that mission report again? Emergency necessitation of spontaneous PDA? How long were you waiting to do that?” 

Osamu inwardly clenched his teeth and considered himself a saint for not snapping with “how long are you going to pretend to not have a crush on our captain?”. It wasn’t worth the bloody nose. Besides, it was obvious enough to anyone with eyes. Even Kita already knew. 

In one smooth motion, Osamu bumped his shoulder against a guest with just enough force to cause a misstep, turning around almost immediately to catch her arm before she stumbled and pulling her towards him with the movement. 

“Apologies, miss. Are you alright?” 

The woman, whose expression had initially been scrunched with irritation at the bump, found herself blushing and stammering after seeing an attractive face so close to hers filled with so much genuine concern. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Osamu saw Suna’s head turn towards the small commotion. 

He let go of her arm and inclined his head with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, again, for the trouble. I hope you have a nice night.”

Osamu walked away and made his way back towards his original spot, finishing off the last of his champagne and returning it to a passing attendant’s tray. 

When he turned around, Suna was behind him. 

Unconsciously, he felt his breath catch in his throat. 

He’s not like his brother—he doesn’t waste time denying his attraction. Suna is beautiful. There’s an elegant sharpness to his features, present in the cut of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose, the thin slash of his eyebrows and the heavy, half-lidded gaze of his narrow eyes that perpetually give off the impression of vague boredom with whatever he’s doing, whether it’s crawling through air ducts or incapacitating a man. 

Suna was a contract spy, and his services went to the highest bidder. As a result, his allegiances never stayed the same. More than once they’ve found themselves on the opposite sides of a job, Rome being one of them, but just as many times they’ve met with their interests aligned and have ended up working together. 

Reunions, in these first few moments, are always a volatile thing, thick with tension and calculative mistrust, knowing from experience that if they let their guard down, they’ll wake with with a knife lodged in their back.

“You led me here,” Suna said in lieu of greeting. “I’m assuming you have a reason?” 

Osamu glanced at the woman Suna left behind, who was still chatting with the curator. “Is she your date?” 

Suna arched his brow, the corner of his lips pulling into a knowing smile. “Jealous?” 

“She’s one of the biggest donors to the collection today,” Osamu said, ignoring him. “Does she know that her date has stolen from twelve national museums?”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to know that the man she hired to protect her trinkets has such an impressive resume,” Suna replied, hardly ruffled by the accusation. “Should I have added you in as my reference? I’m touched that you keep such close tabs on my work. Did you catch the last one? It was a Rembrandt.”

Osamu huffed a laugh before leaning forward to speak lowly in his ear, “I don’t believe you.” 

Suna turned his head towards him, their faces now centimeters apart, and said with barely concealed amusement: “What, that I took the Rembrandt?” 

“That you’re here as security.” 

“Oh I get it,” Suna smiled. “You want to tie me to a chair to make sure I can’t do anything only for you to freely slip in and steal one of her collections yourself.”

“How about we mutually agree to keep an eye on each other.” 

“I think you just want an excuse to look at me.” 

A beat lapsed where neither one of them spoke. It had been two months since they’d last crossed paths, and Osamu realized with a start that he had missed this. Missed him. He was struck with the sudden, ridiculous urge to hold him, as if at any moment he would disappear in front of him like smoke.

“Join our team,” said Osamu, ignoring Atsumu’s _"what"_ over the comms. “Join the Foxes.” 

Suna leaned closer, brushing his lips against his cheek as he opened his mouth to speak. 

Osamu’s heart thud heavily in his chest. 

“You couldn’t afford me,” he whispered. 

The whole room went dark. 

Guests gasped and shouted in surprise at the unexpected blackout, some reaching for their phones to turn on the flashlight. 

Osamu shot his hand out, but it was too late. Suna was gone. 

“Fuck,” he and Atsumu swore at the same time. Eyes adjusting to the dark, Osamu ran towards the lobby entrance, shouldering past bodies and looking for one that seemed to move faster than the others. 

“Talk to me,” came Kita’s voice, calm amidst the panic. “What’s the situation?” 

“I lost Suna. He’s probably headed to the vault. Atsumu?” 

“Emergency lights are on, here and in the halls. We’re locking the doors right now and standing outside. There’s over twenty of us, including me. I’d like to see him try to get in.” 

“Has the first team set out yet?” Kita asked. 

“Just a minute ago—fuck—is that—” 

“We don’t know. Stay where you are. Akagi, have any of the alarms been breached?” 

“Nothing! By all aspects it’s like an average power outage. I have my eyes on the first team. They’re stopped in the hallway across from Conference Room Three—shit I’m losing my cameras. Riseki, help me turn them back on, I’m gonna try to trace whoever’s entered the system. I thought Suna worked alone?” 

“Osamu—”

“On my way.” 

He pushed open the double doors and ran left, mentally checking the floor plans they went over before the job. 

The glow of the emergency lights cast a green glow over the hallway, illuminating the crumpled forms of the guards who had been knocked out, guiding him to Suna like a trail of crumbs. 

The Foxes had underestimated this event. They’d expected maybe a daring beginner thief, eager to make a splash in the scene, grab some quick glory to make a name for themselves. Not a veteran like Suna. Why was he here? What did he take? Who was his employer? 

He turned the corner and ran towards the conference room. He threw open the door only to be tackled to the side. His back thud heavily against the wall, glasses and earpiece falling off from the force of the collision. 

Gripping his assailant’s shoulders and shoving back, he immediately reversed their positions,one arm pushed down against his chest, his other hand pressed on the wall beside his head.

Then he stared, chest heaving, into the unapologetic eyes of Suna Rintaro. 

“Where is it?”

“I consider you a rival, you know,” said Suna, nonchalant. 

“And I consider you a pain in the ass.” 

“Weren’t you just begging me to join your team a minute ago? I liked that. Let’s go back to that.” 

Osamu pressed down with more force, pinning him to the wall with his body. 

Suna stuttered out a breathy laugh. “This again. Are we doing a repeat of Prague?” 

“The one where you stabbed me and threw me in the river?” 

“No, the one where you did this—"

Suna leaned forward and kissed him. 

Osamu’s mouth opened hungrily in response, as if he’d been waiting for this, as if he’d been waiting ever since he saw Suna on the other side of the lobby, ever since Prague, ever since he first met the man on the roof of a cathedral, ghostly under moonlight, laughing at the look on Osamu’s face as he stole his first win from under his nose. He felt Suna’s fingers tugging in his hair. He felt their tongues sliding together. He felt like he was burning, melting from the inside out. He caught his lips and tasted him again and again and again. 

They pulled apart, both breathing heavily, Suna’s eyelashes brushing against his cheek as he blinked once, twice. 

Osamu tilted his head to mouth a kiss on Suna’s neck. “Your problem is that you get lazy after you think you won,” he murmured. He leaned back to meet Suna’s eyes. He was watching him, dark pupils blown wide with want. Osamu brought his hand down to cup his cheek before bending down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Then another on his nose. Suna closed his eyes and shuddered. 

“You had a thirty second head start. Were you waiting here for a goodbye kiss?”

Suna eyes flickered open to stare at his face. For a second, Osamu thought that he was going to kiss him again. 

“Maybe I just wanted to see you lose,” Suna said softly. And with that he twisted his torso to the side, pulled a stun gun from his back pocket, and stabbed its prongs into Osamu’s stomach.

Osamu’s muscles spasmed from the electric shock. He staggered, one knee dropping to the floor as his hands made a grab for Suna, who slipped easily out of reach. 

Osamu watched as Suna ran towards the windows and threw it open, the wind immediately roaring in and swelling the white curtains into fat bulges. 

“I win this time too,” Suna shouted. 

The pale glow of the moon illuminated his face, draping it in sharp lines and shadows. His mouth curved into a smile as he climbed unto the windowsill. 

Then, with a flap of white fabric, he was gone. 

For a long time, the only sound in the dark conference room was the swish of curtains, jostled by the wind. 

Osamu reached into his pocket and pulled out an old timepiece, intricately engraved and strung with a golden chain. 

It made sense that in the limited time Suna had to hide it before Osamu caught up, he would keep it on his person. When Osamu first pressed him against the wall, he guessed by process of elimination that the item was in the pocket of his coat jacket. He only had a small window of opportunity to pick between right or left. But over years of countless run-ins and clashes during missions, Osamu had noticed. Suna had a habit of reaching for his left. 

Osamu examined the timepiece. It didn’t look like anything that would catch Suna’s interest, so someone must have hired him. He wondered why it would be the target of theft, whether Zusak had been withholding information. 

Suna would figure out something was wrong as soon as he touched solid ground, but by then it would be too late. He would reach into his pocket and pull out the wristwatch Osamu had swapped as he kissed Suna’s nose. 

Osamu picked up his fallen communicator, putting it back in his ear. He heard the device ping as it connected, and a rush of noise instantly flooded his channel. Kita’s voice cut through the chaos, clear and exact. 

“Osamu, report.” 

Osamu slipped the timepiece back into his pocket. “Suna is gone. The item is secure.” 

With a faint hum, all the lights on the floor turned back on. He blinked at the sudden brightness and judged that the time elapsed since it went out had been about eight minutes, maybe ten. 

“The vault is also secure,” Atsumu said. “Back-up security has arrived. Systems are online.” Atsumu paused. “It seems like he was the only hostile variable.” 

Osamu glanced down at his bare wrist and wondered if Suna would give back his watch the next time they met. Probably not.

He sighed, eyes lifting up and lingering at the open window. The white curtains fluttered out with the breeze, sweeping the floor like the soft graze of an eyelash. 

Osamu rose to his feet. Something like hunger ate at him from the inside. He felt strangely emptied of strength, as if a hand had reached in and hollowed him out. 

“I’m hungry,” he announced, opening the door and stepping over the unconscious bodies. “‘Sumu, after this, you’re treating me to a meal.” 

**Author's Note:**

> please look at this mind-boggling [art](https://twitter.com/phreinne/status/1290179042499366914?s=20) by phreinne!! 
> 
> twitter: kitaeun


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